


the hand that cuts

by ninata



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: M/M, endgame spoilers, how the HELL is this romantic. weirdass kids, pre-game, read notes for real warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 04:23:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11433096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninata/pseuds/ninata
Summary: Fake the smallest version of myself /Can't shake this moment inside of my head / Duck in shame and sink into my shell / And play it over and over again until the favors end (FULL GAME SPOILERS, CHECK BEGINNING NOTES FOR REAL SUMMARY/WARNINGS)





	the hand that cuts

**Author's Note:**

> Saihara suggests something new.  
> -  
> still about saihara and ouma knowing each other pre-game and being...uh. whatever you call this.  
> warnings for: self harm, suicide, actual physical bodily harm, child abuse mentions, people drinking each others blood, getting off to physical pain, messy handjobs, and yet somehow it's romantic and all consensual  
> back at it again with that edgy shit. MISS me with that dubcon.

Hands wrap their knobby fingers together. Saihara's are softer, short nails with harsh ridges in them. Kokichi envies the curves of his palms, the creases on his knuckles.

Box cutter, disinfected. Kokichi's sleeve is rolled up to the elbow. Is he afraid? Is he excited?

Saihara's left in his right. A reassuring smile, its corners pinned to the middle of Saihara's cheeks. Kokichi smiles back, if only on reflex. "Ready? One, two…" A sharp sting; the pain warns against pressing deeper, but once it does, numbness sets in. His wrist feels wet. He doesn't want to look-- like getting a shot, it's hard to watch as it happens. Saihara paints neat red lines in the flesh of Kokichi's forearm. Shallow. He can tell.

Throb. He feels the blood rush to a stranger place than the wounds. He releases the breath he was holding, shifting in his seat.

"T-There. Is that…?"

Kokichi nods.

Saihara breathes, Kokichi feels it rush over his lips. His hands are shaking, it's not the pain. It's not the blood, either. It's never been like this, every time he hurt himself he  _ hated  _ it, but he needed it. Needed to. This is different.

Saihara sets the box cutter down and takes Kokichi's hand. Delicately, he raises up his arm. Something in Kokichi's lower body tightens. He wants to say something, but he can't think of anything. Saihara's lips press against the hurt.

His tongue rolls against it.

Kokichi's almost jealous. If his whole face was bleeding, would Saihara give it that kind of attention? Aha...that's a joke. Like cleaning the wound, his mouth works against Kokichi's skin. Kokichi rocks forward on his legs. "Saihara-kun, that's not...clean…" They'd never gone this far before. It was Saihara's suggestion, idly as his eyes ran over the scabbed over cuts on Kokichi's thighs.  _ What if I did it? _ Saihara had hurt him before at his request, but it was never this serious. They just kept growing more and more depraved. If anyone knew, they'd look down on Kokichi even more...haha, what a laugh. The model student his parents wanted him to be was a fucking masochist. Was this beyond masochism? Whatever it was, he wonders if half the reason it turns him on so much is because he knows everyone would hate him for it.  


Kokichi's heart is pounding. The shitty thing stuck in his ribs, pitifully churning out blood that passes through Saihara's lips. Something in him is still scared, but something else needs more. Wants Saihara to slice him into ribbons, slam the boxcutter into his chest and drag it down, down, down. Pull out all the garbage that rots inside him, his tar colored organs that ooze green and hate. Leave his corpse to decompose in the middle of Tokyo station, so that everyone trying to get on with their disgusting mundane lives has to see him.

His head feels fuzzy. He shifts again. Saihara's head lifts-- his lips are red, his saliva stained. Kokichi hates blood. He squeezes the hand that's still in his, and he leans in.

His chest heaves. He's too nervous to grab, too nervous to tug. Saihara tastes like you'd expect, metal and punches to your teeth. It's disgusting. It's his.

"We need to--" Saihara tries to speak. Kokichi doesn't want to let him. He's afraid of what he's going to say, if he's going to call him a freak for the tent in his pants, if he's going to laugh at him. His vision is cloudy. "W-We need to bandage you up--"

Kokichi isn't sure if he's getting faint from the blood loss or the weird pleasure, but it's probably both. The pain's already gone, but every thump of blood hits him in the crotch. It's funny how being hurt by one person makes him want to kill himself, but being hurt by Saihara makes him desperate for more.

He doesn't cooperate at first, twisting his tongue against Saihara's, but he can't find the strength to push back when Saihara pulls away, stays put when Saihara gropes around for the disinfectant. How much blood did he lose? He couldn't tell how much time passed. His pants are littered with dark red splotches, and a glance at his arm makes him queasy again. As he sways in his place, Saihara dabs the cuts with a soaked cotton swab. This time the pain doesn't feel quite as good. The gauze wrap winds loosely around his forearm.  

Kokichi never lived his own life. After his brother left, his parents directed their attention to him. Scholarship to a college prep school, welts and bruises whenever he got less than an A. Hid his interests. Forgot he had them. All he had were secrets, hemmed uniform pants and gaudy underwear that no one could see. His rebellion was secret, white cross-hatching up and down his arms and legs. Secret secret secret. It'd be a surprise if his classmates even knew he had a personality. If they could tell his timid nature was a farce.

He was nothing. He was just an outlet for everyone else's frustrations. You can't live like that. You can't feel happy like that. No one understood. Not until he met Saihara, at least.

The lotion on Saihara's hand smells nice. His hand's wrapped around Kokichi's dick, jerking him off in short strokes. They can't let Saihara's neighbors hear, so their tongues keep each other busy. Kokichi thinks Saihara might be taking care of himself with his other hand, too, but he can't tell. The idea's nice. He feels like they're linked, that way. The room is full of water, and everything shifts when he tries to look at it. His body feels light, floating next to Saihara's, clutching his sleeve in trembling fingers. Maybe they'll drown together. He'd like to drown.

He comes embarrassingly fast. Saihara sinks his teeth into Kokichi's lip. He still smells the blood. He wants to bleed more.

It's a blur, but he's lying down on Saihara's couch sometime soon afterwards. Saihara's making him eat a granola bar and drink juice.

But why? He wouldn't mind passing out, bleeding out. Dying just like that. Wouldn't it be funny? How would they explain that to his parents?  _ Yeah, his gay lover cut open his arm. He died with his dick hard.  _ Maybe he should carve a 'go fuck yourself' into his stomach so they know how he feels.

"Are you...feeling better?"

Kokichi is snapped out of his fantasies by Saihara's voice. His lips still have color to them, still wet with spit. Soft features, sharp golden eyes. His hair's a little messy-- he only takes his hat off when he's at school or at home. Kokichi likes it, the little cowlick and the even trim. It frames his face perfectly, round and gentle, a white moon framed by smooth clouds. It's jarring-- he forgets what he was thinking about.

"I...er…"

"Let me get you another granola bar..."

"No! It was...er. You just...look nice." Kokichi ducks his head, as if someone were going to swipe at him for saying that. He directs his attention to the couch cushion to his left. It's very interesting, charcoal grey with no patterns or inconsistencies in the stitching.

He thinks of the collection of things he's stolen from Saihara's apartment, neatly confined in a shoebox in his room. He thinks about how he can't stop himself from doing it. He thinks about how Saihara never complains. He thinks about the food Saihara makes him, the times they go grocery shopping together. He thinks of the spare key in his jacket pocket. He thinks of how nice it smells here. He thinks of a lot of things.

Saihara breaks the silence.

"...Um...would you...l-like to share the futon tonight?"

Kokichi turns his head back around. Saihara's face is full of color.

"...Yeah. I think I'd like that."

He doesn't deserve this. Does he? Was something good just bound to happen eventually? It doesn't feel like that. It'll be cruelly torn away from him, just like everything else. 

But Saihara is beautiful, a cool September evening with stars hanging off his eyelashes, a promise that when the time comes, Saihara will be the one to take Kokichi's life. And when Kokichi finally dies, Saihara will follow shortly, and then nothing would separate them ever again.

And they'll be happy.

**Author's Note:**

> i cannot believe i've churned out four entire fics and the game isn't even out in english yet? anyway if you want Hot Opinions on what i think they were like pre-game...feel free to ask, i'll be writing lots more. kleptomaniac ouma has so much canon backing let me HAVE it kodaka. once again, miss me with that dubcon/noncon i'm here for consensual edgy shit and consensual edgy shit only. i really hope i'm getting ouma across well enough, i'm tired of everyone being like UWAHHH HES SO MOE AND INNOCENT uwu he's obviously an edgy shitlord too!!! he just acts like that so no one bothers him!!! anyway theres uh, canon info that he went to a really good school and he IS really smart and :( :( :( sorry i'm emotional about my boy. the brother thing is also kind of uh, a conclusion we came to based on the lies he tells in game but it's got verrrry little evidence other than "he lies a lot about having a brother that killed his parents/left" and "it would make sense".


End file.
